Eupocalypse Box Set

by Peri Dwyer Worrell

  Hampered by the awkward basket, she began the walk back to the compound.

  As she got closer to the big communal farmhouse, she saw six of the Sutokatans standing together with their backs to her, gesturing with high emotion in the opposite direction. She had to pass right by them to get to the house; she would tell them about the theft of the scooter then. As she drew nearer, she heard their discussion:

  “…fifteen or sixteen of them, I’m sure of it,” said Gillie. LaDwon nodded in agreement.

  “And you say they had dug a trench?” Snowbear’s voice was cracking; the past year had been hard on them all. Age suddenly seemed to have caught up with him—looks-wise, voice-wise, and in a slight tremor detectable in his hands.

  “I almost tripped over them.” LaDwon said. “They’re dug in right on the far side of the oat field.” Thinking about Snowbear’s aging made her look more closely at LaDwon. When she’d arrived, he was just a goofy, soft-spoken but sometimes smart-alecky, skinny kid. Now he was heavier: physically, putting on a thick layer of muscle on his shoulders, chest, and back; but also psychically. He had more gravitas, and his reticence carried more self-restraint than shyness. She realized how quickly boys turned into men, and her grip on Ozark tightened imperceptibly. She felt tears welling in her eyes: damn post-partum hormones!

  The group looked up as she approached. “Are you okay?” Gillie asked, patting her shoulder.

  Jessica nodded, sniffed. “Yeah, just mommy brain. You all look worried. What’s up?”

  “Some militia-types have dug in at the top of the hill. We don’t know what they’re aiming to do. Camo fatigues, guns on tripods, earthworks on the side of the ditch. They must have dug at night, when our patrols were on the other side of the property.”

  “Did you talk to them?”

  “We shouted ‘Hello!’ But they just stared at us.”

  “Okay. Here’s what we need to do,” said Snowbear. “LaDwon and Gillie, start at the northwest corner of the farm and work back and forth north-to-south. Ten passes at least to cover the acreage; make sure there’re no more nests. Josh, Murphy, start at the southeast corner and do the same, working east-to-west. Jesse, see if you can get close enough to their dugout to see what kind of weapons they have. If they have scoped-in sniper rifles, this could be bad. Jessica, take the baby back to the house and let everyone there know what’s going on. Tell them they should stay inside.”

  All six of them found themselves obeying without hesitation. Jessica’s mouth quirked a little as she headed up the path to the front door. Snowbear’s voice had steadied and his hands stopped shaking. He’d assumed command spontaneously and effortlessly. She had a glimpse of the young man who’d made a libation from the juiciest part of his youth to the gods of war in the Vietnamese jungles and come home to search for the reasons.

  Snowbear had nothing to do but wait. He busied himself working in the pen where their sheep had been enclosed for shearing. One of the gate hinges needed reseating—which meant replacing the upright on the gate itself. He hadn’t noticed it until the sheep were inside.

  He whistled for the border collie, Vickie. She came racing from her resting spot under the back porch, instantly perceived the need to keep the sheep inside the enclosure with the gate now open, and dedicated her single-pointed attention to doing just that. The sheep pen, not coincidentally, had big trees positioned so that their yellow and orange autumn crowns blocked lines of sight to surrounding open areas. Snowbear was no fool.

  Jesse came over to the pen, scratching Vickie’s head and letting her thump his legs with her tail. “Three M4 carbines and one Sig SSG2000 with a telescopic sight. The guy with the Sig looks like he might be pretty green, a collector, but there’s no telling for sure.”

  “Right. We have to assume he knows how to aim it until he proves otherwise. The kids said sixteen of them. That right?”

  “I counted fourteen, but it’s a pretty deep trench. Could be more.”

  “Okay. Let’s get back to the main house and pow-wow.”

  #

  The next day, Josh and Amit went out to the compound’s biomethane generation hut. LaDwon, Jesse, and Gillie first took a series of shots at the siege force, giving the two geeks a chance to scramble across the yard with their tools. The pair disappeared inside for a long time.

  In the meantime, Jessica was at work with Snowbear inside the woodshed attached to the house.

  Around sunset, a series of events happened:

  First, the three shooters stepped out and laid down suppressive fire again.

  Second, Snowbear quickly wheeled a contraption built on a wood frame out of the woodshed. It trundled on huge wooden cartwheels and had a long central arm made of an entire tree that had been lying in the shed awaiting dressing and trimming . Snowbear crouched under the cover of a thick metal storm cellar door that was now mounted on the front of the primitive trebuchet.

  Third, Amit and Josh dashed out from the methane hut with armloads of what looked like balloons. Of course, balloons were no longer a thing—all eaten up by the germs in the early days of the machine sickness. These were filled, tied-off skin bags, normally used for bottling milk and juices and fermenting the latter into wine. These were dropped at Snowbear’s feet. The two rushed back to the hut.

  Snowbear signaled the three rifle-shooters. They kept the besiegers occupied while Snowbear loaded and fired the primitive trebuchet at them. The balloon flew at them and burst, and the obscene exclamations of disgust assured Snowbear that he had a few moments to reset the trebuchet for another round. The biogas plant received a generous flow of excrement running from the house’s sewage lines—and the balloons were filled with it.

  The pair in the methane hut then implemented their second part in the plan. Unnoticed by the marauders, they had snaked a thin length of metal piping through the grass and vegetation. The lab spark-starter on the tip of the pipe was within a few feet of their trench. They opened the fitted brass valve at their end of the line, Josh’s hand drawing the fine bead chain taut that ran the length of the pipe to the fire starter.

  The invaders had momentarily recoiled out of the trench to get away from the feces that Snowbear had flung at them. Gillie wasn’t sure, but she thought she might have wounded one of them. But they were definitely still showing signs of movement, taking off helmets and so forth. Snowbear smiled and loaded another bag.

  Josh judged the moment, crossed his fingers, and pulled the chain. The result was delightful, euphoric, and terrifying: like the world’s largest ten-year-old boy had taken the world’s largest aerosol can and sprayed it across a cigarette lighter. The flames billowed out over the top of the trench. Another flurry of cursing activity was accompanied by screams from at least two men.

  Snowbear flung another shitbomb at the trench. The bags exploded and splattered the newly-burned men and their compatriots with fecal material. There was, momentarily, no need for suppressive fire. All the Sutokatans retreated back into their home.

  The siege settled into the tedium of every siege since the earliest days of human warfare. The Sutokatans were definitely the more comfortable of the two opponents. Sentry patrols were re-routed to keep cover from the invaders while still encompassing the rest of the perimeter. Jesse alternated watch with Gillie, each with their own scoped rifle, shooting at the invaders when they broke cover. The smell of their initial attack began to fade, but then the foul odor began to get stronger, and they occasionally caught a plaintive groan that told them their plan was working.

  On day ten, a white flag went up from the trench. Snowbear and LaDwon went up to parley.

  The sixteen men in the trench were in a bad way. Their latrine, a deeper trench dug at one end of their earthwork, was a reeking, splattered mess, as was the four feet of trench leading up to it. The men were pale, and several of them were sweating despite the cold. Three were lying semi-fetal, delirious, clutching their bellies. The two burn victims were the worst. Despite the best efforts of the one field medic
in the squad, their burns had become infected with fecal bacteria. Having used a prodigious amount of water trying to clean the burnt men and hydrate themselves after the inevitable diarrhea, they had no clean water remaining in their giant tank.

  They piled their weapons up at LaDwon and Snowbear’s feet. The other Sutokatans came out to watch them carry their injured and ill comrades away on foot. As they watched, they sipped home-brewed beer in high spirits.

  Akisni, ever the healer, pressed her lips together at the condition of the burned men. “With no burn units and the state of technology available to them now, their odds of surviving aren’t good.” As the last of their vanquished foes trailed off into the distance, she looked down sadly.

  Snowbear put an arm across her shoulders. “Darling, you know they made their choice. Actions have consequences. They have to deal with the consequences of the choice they made to attack.”

  Akisni was silent at first, but being around the others, she couldn’t help catching their good mood. She smiled a little. “At least I’ll have the gas back on in the kitchen. I’m getting really sick of cooking on that wood stove.”

  Prey Drive

  DD stood up on the platform after a long session of contemplation. Her left foot had fallen asleep, and she held onto the rail at the top of the ladder while she rolled her ankle to wake it up. She looked down and saw her ATV right where she’d left it. She took out her binoculars and made a circuit around the water tower, carefully scanning the surroundings for anyone nearby: no one. She shifted her weapons and headed down the ladder to the ground.

  As she was climbing down the last ladder, she heard the whine of a small engine approaching. Just as I climb down, they pull up? And they were nowhere to be seen when I scouted. Could be a coincidence, but better safe than sorry…

  She hurried up her climb and jumped the final ten feet, landing in a semi-squat and slinging her rifle across her chest as she hit the ground. The small engine she’d heard was another ATV, rather like hers. It pulled up a few yards away.

  The engine shut down and two men got off it: white guys with beards, one brown and one salt-and-pepper, wearing jeans and T-shirts, leather belts and boots, and bicycle helmets. They were armed similarly to DD—each with a long gun and a handgun, though the handguns were semi-autos and considerably heavier calibers than DD carried. One of them had a rifle, and the younger one carried a pump-action shotgun.

  Odd, that shotgun. Most ammo for them is plastic, so most of them don’t work anymore; they must have brass or paper-cased ammo. No tats. No piercings. The helmets are probably a good sign. If they wear helmets, at least they have some impulse control.

  She leveled her rifle, but kept it pointed slightly to the side. “Can I help you gentlemen?” she asked.

  “Good morning to you, too!” the older man said.

  “We won’t hurt you,” the younger one added. “Just saw you on top of the tower and thought we’d come over to check out our visitor.” He smiled, hands out to the side, palms forward.

  DD smiled in return, nodded, but didn’t lower her gun. “Well, you’ve checked me out. Nice to meet you. I’ll be on my way now.” The men weren’t between her and her vehicle, but she’d have to turn her back to them at a forty-five-degree angle to walk straight to it. The gravel and concrete at the foot of the tower was rough enough that she didn’t like the idea of sidling over to it without looking. Too easy to get off-balance. There was nothing overtly threatening about the men, but there was definitely an edge in their expressions. Her feeling was that they hadn’t decided whether to bother with her yet.

  She smiled even wider and made a show of relaxing, even as she kept her knees unlocked. She casually shifted the gun down by her side in her right hand, but she inconspicuously kept her finger on the trigger guard, watching where their eyes went.

  They glanced at each other and chuckled, both holding their hands out to the side. The older one said, “Whatever you like, sweetheart.”

  DD glanced down at the path to her vehicle, then sidled over, keeping the men in her peripheral vision. There was a good thirty feet between them now—far enough that they couldn’t rush her before she could draw, far enough that they couldn’t draw and aim before she pulled off. She swung her leg over her ATV and her weapon across her back in one motion, then smiled at them again. Looking straight at them and seeing no change in their position, she started her ATV with a rev and took off.

  Her mouth was dry and her hands were shaking. She hoped that was that. But she got only a quarter mile down the road when she heard a whooping rebel yell and heard their engine start. She revved hers to its fastest speed. It was bigger than theirs, and even with her gear, they were a lot heavier than she was. She heard them behind her, but the sound got quieter instead of louder as she drove down the dusty shoulder next to the cracked and pitted asphalt of the street.

  She breathed a sigh of relief and approached the road south, where she planned to turn towards the coastline. But she heard a rifle report from off to her right, and her relief was short-lived. The dirt kicked up about twenty yards in front of her. Someone was shooting at her!

  She braked abruptly, almost vaulting herself over the handlebars, and scurried behind a metal phone-relay box at the crossroads. Her pursuers weren’t far away, and the shots had stopped—maybe this was part of a plan to pin her down.

  She didn’t like what that implied. She pulled her belt knife and put it in her teeth, unslung the rifle again, and checked her handgun holster. The two men howled again as they approached her concealment, an unnerving sound—if I were that easily unnerved, but I’m not, not anymore.

  She steadied the rifle barrel level with the ground, against the corner of the relay box. Both eyes open and sighting down it, she swung around on one knee, tracking them like a clay pigeon as she squeezed the trigger.

  The stock wasn’t well-positioned and bruised her collarbone, but the shot was true. The youth who was trying to level his shotgun at her while Daddy drove actually let the gun fly out of his hand. The little ATV drifted around, grinding to a halt and flinging gravel amidst the men’s cussing. DD didn’t have time to congratulate herself. The two were momentarily defenseless before her, and she pushed her advantage, squeezing off five more shots. Now both men were on the ground, but at least one of them was still moving.

  A sixth shot rang out. Not mine. DD shrank into the cover of her relay box. She listened for the other attackers and heard steps swishing through the overgrown grass in the big, empty lot to her right. The sun was behind them, and she needed to stay where she was. One of the two men who had chased her sat up, and she carefully took aim and fired. She actually saw the shot hit his head. He wasn’t going to be a threat anymore. However, the other group was getting closer, and she had no time to decide what to do. She had used almost half her magazine, but she had another one in her pocket, a full revolver, and two speedloaders.

  She had another group closing in on her—unknown numbers, with unknown weaponry—with no backup, and no escape plan. She spared a glance at her vehicle. The three tires she could see were intact and there was no obvious damage, but in her frantic flight for cover, she’d left the key in. Idiot!

  She poked her head past the left side of the steel box, then ducked back again. She then got a preparatory solid grip on her long gun, stuck her foot out where she’d stuck her head out a moment ago, drew it back, and dived flat, shooting two wild shots into the sun’s glare, in the general direction of the approaching attackers before rolling behind the box again.

  Her foot successfully drew a shot, and her two shots didn’t appear to have hit anyone, but the rustling in the grass slowed just a little. She cowered behind her blockade with a sinking feeling. She realized her chances of getting out of this unharmed were minimal.

  They only took one shot at my foot. If I’m lucky, that means they’re short on ammo. Even though people around here had always reloaded their own handgun casings, primers and bullets are hard to make from scr
atch, and so were in short supply. Homemade gun powder didn’t work well in rifles. That could be all they wanted from her—just to steal any ammo she had, any fuel, any food.

  She breathed deeply and took the knife from her teeth, swallowing and trying to loosen her jaw and neck and avoid stiffening up as she lurked. She almost wanted them to hurry up and get it over with. Almost.

  She heard the occasional rustle get closer. A twig snapped maybe ten yards away. Again, she took a firm hold on the rifle, mentally rehearsing her aim based on the sound. She stepped most of the way out, squeezed off four shots, and stepped into cover before any of them could get their weapons aimed.

  None of them took a pot shot, confirming her suspicion that they were conserving ammunition. She had made a hit; she’d heard a sharp cry from one of the men and now she heard a flurry of activity from the same general direction she’d fired. Her mind processed her glimpse of the scene: the sun and the necessary brevity made it hard to tell, but she thought there were four or five of them. The one she must have hit was closest. The others were maybe fifty feet away and spread out between ten and two o’clock.

  DD considered her situation. She’d heard of women saving the last bullet for themselves to avoid rape, but DD had never understood that; survival was all. As if being tortured, raped, and murdered is so much worse than being tortured and murdered. Rape is just another form of torture.

  DD had been roughed up badly by her captors when they blamed her–rightly–for the machine sickness in the first days. But they had been trying to coerce her cooperation; they’d wanted her alive and talking. She held no illusions but that it could be much, much worse.

  She slung the rifle and unholstered her revolver. From somewhere behind her, the damn dog barked once, twice. She heard a faint crunch on the gravel to the left side of her concealment and took careful aim at the corner of the box, about three feet off the ground. I may not get away, but I’ll take at least one more of the bastards down.